


Veteran Cosmic Rocker

by ricoaken



Series: State of the Art [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Classic Doctor Who References, Doctor Who References, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricoaken/pseuds/ricoaken
Summary: The Artist's life has turned upside down since he lost his friend Eken. Now traveling with a very suspicious Time Lord, he's bound to meet the one man that helps everyone in the universe: the Doctor.





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> The title of each chapter is a the name or part of a song, it creates a very good playlist which you can listen to set the mood of the story.

Whoever entered that room would not feel welcome. They would, indeed, look at it with curiosity, for it was a charming strange room, but not welcoming. At all sides that looked the eye were paintings of different sizes and figures. Some of those paintings were of stars, like the ones that did Van Gogh. Others showed a girl, and although you could be sure that it was always the same girl on the pictures, you were never quite sure what differed one face from the other, for they weren’t exactly the same. Those strange canvases seated in the most various places, some of them at the sofa that lay at one side, others on top of wooden chairs and resting on the walls of the enormous room. One could be sure that some of them breathed and sighed from time to time. They were sad, those paintings.   
The room was surely almost round, as is a sphere cut in half, like the chapels of the olden days. One of the walls had a windowpane, covering the entire wall, big and glamorous, and outside of it was the vacuum. The stars and asteroids domain. Space. A little bit of space on the floor in front of the windowpane gave another resting place for the paintings. And there seated a young man.  
This small creature had a pale skin, his hands trembled and his eyes displayed dark lines underneath, as if it had been long since he slept. A blue jacket covered his arms and back, for it was oversized, giving him a funny, yet worrisome appearance. He seated in a lotus position, and in front of him was a mirror. The sad image reflected was of the long curls of his hair starting to fall. With every tick of the silver scissor on his hand another strand left his head. A little further from him, was a wooden record player in beautiful shape, like it was brand new coming out of the store in the days of the 20th Century. The vinyl, whoever, only rotated without purpose, as the needle wasn’t correctly placed. The young man’s lips moved a little, and if one was to come close they would realize he was singing; not realizing the silence around him. Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be… he sang, and soon his before long hair was shortened and almost entirely gone.  
At the center of the room was an octagonal-shaped panel, with a big, transparent glass cylinder in the middle. The cylinder went up and down, stretching black rubber tubes that came from the cylinder and pumped the colorful liquid inside of it. The buttons and levers on the panel shone quietly, eventually changing their dim lights color.   
That, where we were, was a time machine.  
Not a particularly common time machine. That was a TARDIS. A miracle of Time Lord engineering. It could go where no man had ever before been. It could be wherever, whenever, however. Magic in form of technology. 

‘Do you know…’ Another voice could be heard, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. ‘That this TARDIS is designed to have eight pilots, not six, like the others?’

That was another man. His skin too was pale; he was only a little taller than the young man that was first described. His hair was black and smooth, and his eyes were blue. His clothing was simple, black jeans, a black belt, and a plain black shirt with long sleeves. Nothing on his feet.

‘Hey, Artist.’ He called out the distracted fellow cutting his own hair. ‘What—What are you doing, come on.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.’ Said the one known as the Artist.

–I said… – The black haired one sighed, but continued to speak. – That this TARDIS is a very particular model. It was specially designed for the war, so it needs a crew of eight, but it can be correctly manned when not attempting to travel through the fourth dimension, that’s why it’s got that thing you call a car up there.   
–Nice. – He replied, uninterested. 

This pale figure that came from the corridors certainly felt uncomfortable there, like it was not his home, and the other man not his friend. The information that he passed around came from the book that he was holding, an old big scripture full of circles and pictures of mechanisms. He walked around in disgust, moving canvases around so the path to the panel was to be free; and went to the panel. With the touch of some buttons he augmented the lights on the room, and suddenly it shone like the last light of an afternoon, not like the night as it was moments ago. He again looked at the Artist, but the boy kept on shredding his hair. 

–I have news. – He said. His eyes now rested looking at a blue lever on the panel.  
–Go on.   
–They’re not so good, you see. I found him, two times actually, places in time where he stands still for more than a day or two. 

The Artist finally looked at him.

–But…? – He said looking at his companion, and his face now appeared to be fully tired as the hair was not around to mask it.  
–But… – The other continued. – It’s not the correct version. He stands at… Bristol, St Luke's University; for about sixty or seventy years, but by then he didn’t have what we need anymore.   
–You said two.  
–Yes, Trenzalore… He stayed there for almost two thousand years. But I’m not sure we can ever land there, some sort of magnetical field is blocking us or something.  
The Artist went silent again, thinking. He got up in an abrupt movement. He came close to the panel and touched a few buttons. One of the walls opened, like a garage door, showing shelves with weapons and guns. 

–What…   
–Pilgrim. – The Artist said, his eyes fixated on the wall. – We’re going to Bristol.  
 


	2. Veteran Cosmic Rocker

It wasn’t uncommon to the St Luke’s University campus to see some mysterious apparitions over the years.   
For instance, there was the matter of police boxes. Those were not uncommon on the streets of England for most of the 20th century, but as soon as the popularization of the mobile telephone apparel, the boxes started to leave the catch of the eye. That but for one. That one, that started appearing at St Lukes’ Campus from time to time as of the 1950’s was blue and big, and never seemed to be stuck at one place. It became part of legends, dreams and jokes to any student that set their feet there and saw the blue box, and even though some remarked that they had seen more than one of the boxes there more than once, the case was never given such importance.   
Along with the case of the mysterious box, there was the case of the valet. It might be common for folks of the high ranks to have butlers. Classy, sleek fellows that serve their every need and dress in penguin suits. But whoever heard of a university’s valet? Well, the students of St Lukes, for once, had. The funny looking lad that avoided everyone’s attention could be seen from time to time at the place, running around mumbling worried words at the corridors of the campus. Pale, bald, plump, impeccably dressed. He sure was something for the folks to notice, even though his efforts to go unnoticed were notable.   
And then there was the mystery of that one teacher that never seemed to age. The eccentric man roamed the corridors and gave one or two lectures that never seemed to make sense. The students understood he was one of the most prestigious professors there, for he knew a little too much about everything. He was once seen walking around with fellows of the military, a general or a brigadier. He was seen, accompanied by the valet, with staff from the Coal Hill Academy. Those somehow famous apparitions were only part of the strange group of friends that had the old professor, let’s not mention the joyful fellow with the long scarf, the little one with the fur coat and the one that wore a vegetable. Over the years the students seemed to not give the needed attention to the fact that their parents and their grandparents had at some point met or had classes with the grey haired funny man. With that said, they didn’t even know his name, for whoever asked, the only answer they would get was ‘All I know is that he is a Doctor.’ 

 

It was the year 2017, when at one particularly calm morning; a car came to St Luke. It was a black Camaro, one of the classics, which parked a little further from the university and stood there for about an hour before anyone coming out. Then, when the doors finally opened, out of it came two men. One was simple; he wore all black clothes, and had sunglasses on. The other, however, wore a jeans overall, with the front pocket full of sewed buttons; a black shirt with long sleeves, covered by a jacket that resembled a painting by Jackson Pollock, with paint stains of the most varied colors; and at his feet, a pair of white flip flops.   
The two men walked straight into the main building, and they walked fast, like they knew exactly what they were looking for. As soon as they reached a room crowded with students, the one dressed in the ridiculous clothes, that is, the Artist, shouted out of thin air:

–HUMANS! TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER!   
–WhAT… – The Pilgrim replied, placing his hands at the Artists mouth as all the students in the room laughed. – Are you doing?... He… He’s no leader.  
–What do you mean? – The Artist looked troubled. – Isn’t this his castle? Man, this planet confuses me.  
–This is the 21st century… – They exited the room and seated at an empty canteen. – We were at New York like a week ago; you know how this place goes.   
–Sorry, P., me and her didn’t spend that much time here.  
–Thought you did, you have lots of things from Earth in the car.   
–We visited painters, mostly. Artists of all kinds, and most of the good ones lived when horses were still a thing.  
The Pilgrim smiled and looked around.   
–They evolve, I’ll give’em that.  
–So, where’s he? The Doctor.

At the balcony of the canteen, a head suddenly popped up. It was a young girl, with big hair and neat looking clothes, the name of the Doctor placed a joyful smile on her face. ‘He’s giving a lecture!’ She exclaimed. ‘You can still catch the end if you run.’   
The two young men looked at her. The Pilgrim did not smile, but the Artist did so, and with that smile asked the girl to take them there. She promptly opened the door of the canteen and invited them to come along, and talked about the Doctor on the way. Were those other times, the Artist would joyfully hear everything the girl had to say, but now he was silent, almost too deep into his own thoughts. The Pilgrim walked behind them, trying to figure the girl out. He knew the Doctor was fond of humans, so that should be one of his’. They reached a wooden door, and the girl smiled, opening it. They entered in silence, and there he stood.

The Artist’s hands trembled. That was him. That was the Doctor. That was the Time Lord responsible for the vanishing of their race. The man that he had long looked for, to ask for answers, was now carelessly lecturing humans at a school. He was even more incredible in person. The longish grey hair, the checkered grey pants, the shirt covered by a black hoodie and coat with blue lining inside. What a strange man. 

‘Well…’ Said the girl. ‘Grab a seat.’  
‘That won’t be needed.’ The Artist replied, and soon enough out of his pocket he took a gun and pointed at the lecturer. The students that noticed gasped and let out little screams, and the girl that accompanied them too was startled. The Pilgrim pointed a gun at the girl and screamed:

–Everyone! Remain calm. – He pointed his free hand at the Doctor. – We need to talk to him and him only.

The man seemed to not be worried by the gun pointed towards him. His emotions were hard to unveil behind his black sunglasses.   
Everything occurred quite fast: some students exited trough the other door, some remained at their seats. The Doctor, that was on top of the stage with a chalk on his hand only stood there, his mouth opened a little. The Artist began to walk towards him, but soon enough he was obligated to stop, for a gun was now pointed towards his head. It was the valet.

–I recommend you to quietly place the gun back where it came from and walk towards the door, buddy. – Said the plump man.  
The Artist was motionless, but his arm was firm and it still pointed the gun towards the Doctor.  
–I have to talk to him. – Said the Artist, he moved his head and looked at the valet.  
–Well, then, you won’t be needing the gun. You’ll notice he’s pretty easy to talk to.

As they talked, the Doctor went closer to them, almost unnoticed, and some students took the time to run towards the doors. The Pilgrim mumbled a few words with the girl. 

–Nardole. – The Doctor’s voice was heard deep by the side of the Artist’s ear. – What does he look like?  
–Young, sir. White skin. Brown hair. – Nardole looked down. – Really strange clothes.  
–ARTIST! – The Doctor shouted. 

Had it not been for the gun on pointed towards his head the Artist would’ve jumped behind. The Doctor quickly opened his arms and directed his attention towards the few students that remained. ‘EVERYONE!’ He smiled. ‘Class dismissed!’ He continued. ‘That was an exercise! To… warn you, how… anything can happen… anytime… in your lives!’ The students looked concerned, but calmer. ‘Go! Tell your friends what you’ve learned today. Go… I don’t know; watch cat videos on YouTube, or whatever it is you do these days.’

–You know him, sir? – Nardole asked.  
–Yes.  
–You do? – The Artist asked.  
–I’ll explain, come on, and put the gun down. – He grabbed the Artist’s arm, his hand was old but beautiful, it had a gentle touch and a golden ring. – We’re friends. 

When they entered the Doctor’s office, the man went straight towards his wooden desk. He started fumbling through some papers on a drawer without saying anything. Coming along were Nardole and the girl, Bill that was, as she had more than once remarked whenever the Pilgrim called her “human”.

–I’ll say… I was quite looking forward, to this day. – Said the Doctor.  
–You knew we were coming? – The Artist said, troubled.  
–Wait… we? – He looked towards Nardole.  
–YES! – The valet seemed to have realized something.  
–Wha’? You didn’t see this dumbo here? – Said Bill, pointing to the Pilgrim.  
–There are TWO of them. – Exclaimed Nardole. – One with BLUE EYES… And… DARK CLOTHES.  
–Yeah… – Bill looked embarrassed. – Thank you, Captain Obvious.   
–Oh, I see… – Said the Doctor, almost mumbling it to himself.  
Nardole sighed.  
–SO. Let’s get on with it, shall we? – The Doctor placed crossed his fingers on top of the desk. – Grab a seat, tell me; – He smiled. – how can I help?

The Pilgrim was the one to talk. He did not, as the Artist expected him to, talk of Eken. The girl, which was the Artist’s dearest friend, stuck in an unknown dimension, was the only reason they looked for the Doctor in the first place. But the sad tale of how they came to be separated gave place to technological gibberish, as the men talked of multi-dimension traveling and TARDISes. The Artist looked around, and soon enough got up, to look at the paintings in the room. Like a child, he touched the books on the bookshelf; he placed his flip flops at one side and walked barefoot; he touched and felt the big blue box that he had only seen in a painting, and now stood there, at a university’s room. 

–Artist, isn’t it? – Said the girl, Bill, when they both were close to the Doctor’s TARDIS.  
–Yes. – The boy replied, startled.  
–How’d you know him? Are you from space too?  
–Yeah, I am. We both are; me and Pilgrim. But I don’t know the Doctor, he knows me, though. – He talked in a low tone, so only Bill would hear.  
–What’d you wand with’im? – She asked.  
–I’ve a… – The Artist looked at her. He smiled. – I’ve a friend, and I lost her. Pilgrim says he can help.  
–A friend?  
–Yes. Eken. You kinda remind me of her, you know, your skins have the same color.   
–You… lost her?...   
–More like we lost each other, because she knew what she was doing. I don’t blame her, you see, she saved a world in doing so. But I promised I’d get her back.  
Bill smiled, sadly.   
–He’ll help you. It’s his business, helping.   
Artist looked at the Doctor, which discussed with Pilgrim.   
–I hope so.

Minutes later the Doctor tapped the table. He swiveled the chair backwards and did not look at the others in the room. The Pilgrim looked at the Artist and they both looked concerned. ‘Artist’ he said. 

–Pick one of these. – He rose the cup full of strange pens. – It’ll be useful in times to come. 

The Artist picked a silvery one, with a red point that resembled a little fan with a bullet in the middle; the stick-like object had two little lines at the other end.

–I already have a pen. – Artist replied, troubled.  
–Keep it, nonetheless. – The Doctor answered. Bill and Nardole laughed. – Here’s what you’re gonna do: your strange friend, here, which I had not known before; but I’m good at times that change; planned to steal the Hand of Omega from me. I’ve already explained to him that nowadays I don’t have it in my possession anymore. It was… well… it went missing… at the brink of the Time War. With that said, I wouldn’t be crazy to use that thing, not today, no. But there’s someone that’s just as crazy desperate to leave this planet as I am right now. The poor man has been exiled.  
–Well! Go on with it. – The Artist shouted. – Who is it?!  
–Who indeed… – Concluded the Doctor.


	3. Play That Funky Music

The evening came fast after the black Camaro left St Luke’s. The sun was going down once more for the Doctor, Bill and Nardole; and the Time Lord was left with the sad image of the stars in his mind, for his eyes could only see void. At that night, inside a vault, the Doctor told a friend a tale about an Artist.

–I’m not wearing that.  
–What? Why not? It’s beautiful!  
–Artist, you might enjoy looking like a sad clown, but I don’t.  
–Yeah you’re okay with just sad, right?

Inside one of the many wardrobes that were inside the Artist’s TARDIS, the two Time Lords argued whether they’d dress themselves in the clothes that’d mix them with the crowd or just go and do their business.

–What’s the matter with you, anyway? – Inconveniently added the Pilgrim. – All smiley and such. It’s been weeks since I last saw you smile.  
The Artist didn’t answer right away, he grabbed a yellow jeans overall, drawn with little flowers; and in his hands he looked sadly at it.  
–I’m hopeful, I don’t know; he gives you hope, don’t you think? – He said as he put the overall down and grabbed a long sleeved shirt with a yellow and blue train pattern.  
–Did you notice he was blind?  
–And still standing! Lecturing! Knowing whatever it was that you asked him. – He took his shirt off to put the other one on. – Forgive me for admiring the man’s will.  
–He’s just insane, honestly. – The Pilgrim remarked. He was not changing clothes he was just talking.  
–You’re insane too, and look at us, living together.  
–Hopefully not for long. – The Pilgrim said in an ironic tone.  
–You’re welcome to leave, really, I’ve got it all figured out.  
The Pilgrim did not say anything.  
–Alright. – The Artist turned himself over in a spin, like he was dancing at a disco bar. In fact, now that the outfit was complete, he was also dressed like he was in a disco bar. Complete with high waisted grey pants, the shirt with the collar unbuttoned in a V cut, almost to his chest. The only thing fairly common, and surely he didn’t think those through were his shoes, a pair of ordinary black sneakers. – How do I look?  
–Ridiculous. – The Pilgrim quickly turned around. – Come on, we’ve got another madman to find.

Not hard to find out where they were heading. Better said, when they were heading. The streets were bursting with life as the music sang about drugs and sex, and the colourful clothes reflected an entire generation’s urge to be seen. 

–What year are we? – Asked the Pilgrim, tightening his eyes when looking at the big amount of information displayed on the Camaro’s windshield.  
–There. – The Artist pointed with his right hand, the left one was on the steering wheel. – Nineteen seventy-three.

That particular night was cloudless, the stars shone bright and that part of town was quiet. Not a soul on the street, only the muffled sound of rock and disco coming from inside pubs. The Camaro rode slowly, and the loud sound of its engine was like a frightening soundtrack to the sinister look; the black car’s white light cutting through the fog. 

–Did he give us the correct address? – Asked the Artist, he too tightened his eyes trying to figure out something through the fog.  
–Honestly it wouldn’t surprise me if he gave us the wrong one. – The Pilgrim answered, looking at a piece of paper.

Suddenly there was something that would certainly stand out in the fog. It was parked inside an alley, and the dim light coming out of it was like the weak eyes of an old person. Nonetheless, its canary-yellow bodywork was remarkable to say the least, and the black top gave it the look as if it was something out of a really old horror movie. 

–Is that it? – Asked the Pilgrim.  
–I suppose so, try and look at the license plate.

It said WHO1.

–Do I have a license plate? – The Artist looked concerned.  
–Yeah, it’s stupid though. – The pilgrim said after a sigh.  
–What does it say? – He smiled.  
–ART15T.  
–Yeah that’s dumb.

Suddenly a knock on the Artist’s window could be heard. They were both startled, for a moment ago the street was completely empty and their car was the only thing in the night’s darkness. Now there was a tall old man looking at them with a grim look on his face. His nose was big and he had big white sideburns. Between his wrinkled face, beautiful hazel blue eyes could be seen. His broad shoulders were covered in a black velvet cape, and the hand knocking wore black driving gloves.

–Shit, I think that’s him. – Said the Artist.  
–Roll down. – The Pilgrim pointed at the window.

The man looked away for a moment, like he was observing movement at the other end of the street. He alternated, to be precise; he looked at the car, then at the yellow car, then at the other end of the street.

–Listen, kids, I’m sorry to interrupt, but would you be so kind as to take your business elsewhere? – He again looked up. – Things are about to get… messy.  
–Kids? – The Pilgrim exclaimed.  
–Yes, my dear chap, would move your vehicle elsewhere, please? – Said the man.  
–Are you the Doctor? – The Artist asked.  
–What… – The man quickly looked at him. – Do I know you?  
–Well… You’re about to. Allow me to explain.  
–No, young fellow. – He looked once more at the end of the street, and now he seemed to be in a rush. – Explain later.

He ran and threw himself behind a little brick wall, not taller than the Camaro, and there he pointed at them what appeared to be a pen that emitted a sound.  
The car’s lights went off.

–What the hell did he do?! – The Artist was startled. He exited the car and abruptly closed the door, and so did the Pilgrim.  
–Oi! Fancy-pants! – Shouted the Artist. – Turn them on!

He ran towards them again, that time he had a rather fearful look on his face, with his eyebrows up, his eyes wide open and his mouth shut. He grabbed both the Artist and the Pilgrim by the shoulders, the scene was funny for they were both little and he was tall, looking like two little kids being grabbed by their father. He strongly threw them behind the little wall, and they softly reached the floor.

–Hide, would you? – He said.

The Pilgrim was angry, but decided that for however reason it was that the man was hiding, it was a good one. 

–Okay, are you the Doctor? – He asked.  
–I am! – Said the Doctor. – Now shut up! – Violently whispering.

The three of them, kneeling down behind the little wall, slowly raised their heads and looked at the other end of the street. The Pilgrim was surely confused and impatient, but the Artist enjoyed the moment of tension like a kid that enjoys playing with their father.  
Suddenly, a door opened; a garage door that opened in a big wall of bricks, where they were directing their eyes to. There, a truck was driving in reverse, and a small man exited the garage. After him, two tall figures about 6 or 7 feet tall came along bearing guns.

–MY GOD! – Exclaimed the Artist. – WHAT ARE THOSE?  
–Ogrons. – Said the Doctor. – They’re a race of limited intelligence but enormous strength. Often used as mercenaries.  
–They look like they’re made of papier-mâché. – The Artist laughed.  
–That’s… – The Doctor looked at him, outraged. – That’s alien skin!  
–No it’s not! – The Artist kept on smiling. – Look, it’s like low-budget rubber.  
–Artist, that’s racist. – Said the Pilgrim.

The figures entered the truck and so did the small man. The Doctor made a sign with his head indicating they would have to run towards the yellow car. The Pilgrim sighed but followed along, the Artist smiled like a silly child. They entered the car in seconds, and although it appeared old, the sound of the engine proved it to have been modified by the Doctor. They followed the truck through the night, and suddenly noticed that more and more movement was appearing on the streets. The truck began to slow down, and so did the Doctor’s yellow car, which by then he’d told the other two Time Lords, was called Bessie.  
When it stopped, the two ogrons exited the truck and opened a garage door that was similar to the one from before, and the truck entered it slowly. The Doctor looked concerned.

–What are they doing there? – The Artist asked.  
–It’s a disco club. – Said the Pilgrim, pointing at a shiny sign on the front.  
–Splendid. – The Doctor tiredly added.

At the door there was a line of people, all dressed in fancy clothes that gave away the fever of the early 70’s. The door was guarded by a tall fat man, which gave away all sorts of impressions, only not the one of being a comprehensive man. The Pilgrim noticed that they had no idea what and why they were following the truck and why the Doctor was so concerned about it, but decided it would be unwise to put the man out of his quest now that they were so close to an end.

–We’ll have to get through that line of senseless folk. – Said the Doctor, as soon as they exited Bessie.  
–Oh! – The Artist took something out of his pocket. – Try this!  
It was a little cube, not bigger than a dice, with a single red button in it.  
–Is that a Portable Star from the Planet Delphon? – The Doctor said joyfully and picked up the little cube.  
–I don’t know, I bought it at a flea market on Andromeda. – The Artist laughed. – It’s not that strong though, I don’t kow if it’ll do the trick with everyone on the line.  
–No, it’s perfect. – He again grabbed the strange looking pen, and the Artist noticed he’d seen one just like that, hours earlier at the future Doctor’s cup at St Luke. – Let me show you.  
The Doctor pointed at the cube and the tool made a short strange noise.  
–There, that should do it. – He concluded.  
–I have one of those too! – The Artist exclaimed. – It’s back in my car, though.  
–A Sonic Screwdriver? – The Doctor smiled. – Useful little things, aren’t they?  
–So is that what they are… – The Artist said, cracking the code. – She always wanted one.  
–She? – Asked the Doctor.  
–Never mind. – The Pilgrim said. – Let’s get on with it.

The three men walked over to the line of people, it had about nine or ten folks there, plus the big guard. “Can I have your attention, please?” The Doctor shouted, and as soon as everyone had looked at him, he pressed the button on the little cube and all of the people suddenly fell down. The Artist laughed, impressed by the force of the light emitted.

–We’ll just leave them there? – Asked the Artist. The Pilgrim was just laughing.  
–It lasts for about ten minutes, they’ll feel like they’d danced all night so it did more than they could expect from this party. – The Doctor explained, smiling.

The club was bursting with people, all sorts of lights and colorful clothing shining through the night. Dance moves as funny as they came and people laughing and singing and drinking. The Doctor took off his driving gloves and placed them on his pockets, sighing uncomfortably. The Artist could barely contain his smile, and the Pilgrim his embarrassment. He pointed at a little door behind the bar, a red curtain hiding it, in a way only a little of the light that came from there was seen. They directed themselves towards the door, which the man in the bar had no intention of letting them go. The Doctor, however, looked at the man straight in the eyes, and slowly said: “You will let us through.” The man, as if he was confused, pulled the curtain so they’d pass. They entered the little door which led to a corridor, and soon enough they were at what appeared to be a warehouse.

–Put one there. – Said the small man. He was bald, had a moustache on and wore a black pinstripe suit.  
The ogrons moved a big object, it was cylinder in base and had a big sphere on top, that contained what appeared to be a screen of some sort.  
–Quick, grab another, they’ll be here any moment! – The man kept on giving orders.

Behind some wooden boxes, the Doctor and his recently acquired companions were hiding, observing the movement.

–What are they doing? – Said the Artist.  
–Oh, those are nice, I know what they are. – The Pilgrim let out, smiling.  
–Nice? – The Doctor whispered, outraged. – My dear fellow, you know what those are, and still you think they’re nice?  
–What are they, Doctor? – The Artist asked.  
–They’re miniscopes. Horrid things! Objects of the most devious device, banned by the Time Lords, following my demand. – The Doctor explained.  
–You’re exaggerating! – The Pilgrim said. – They’re like a zoo!  
The Artist gasped in horror.

The ogrons kept moving the miniscopes. They grunted as the things came out of the truck, and the small man watched in happiness. One at a time they appeared till there were four. 

–Come on, let’s bust their ass. – The Artist said.  
–We have to wait, I’ll call for reinforcement. – The Doctor said, and fumbling trhough his pockets he took out a big squared thing with an antenna, in the shape of a telephone.  
The Artist contained his laughter and let out only air, as someone that wants to laugh but can’t make a sound. – What is that? – He asked.  
–It’s a primitive communicator. – He messed with the buttons, setting the volume to a low pitched tone.

‘Bzzz.’ Went the thing. ‘Hello, yes, Doctor. This is the Brigadier. Over.’  
‘Lethbridge Stewart. Listen carefully, old chap.’

The Doctor explained to the man on the radio where they were and what exactly was happening. The contrabandist was surely human, so he was to be judged under Earth’s jurisdiction, but the ogrons would be judged by the Shadow Proclamation. 

–Alright. Our job here is done. – The Doctor said.  
–Wait, that’s it? – The Artist said, disappointed. – Thought you’d kick their criminal ass.  
–That won’t be necessary, my dear. You know, for a reasonably young pair of boys you two sure have the knack for trouble. – He said, getting up.  
–DOCTOR, NO! – The Artist shouted, and soon enough the Doctor’s head had bumped into what appeared to be another wooden box, hanging from a pole inside the warehouse. 

The box then fell, and the small man’s attention was drawn towards the sound of its crashing wood. The two ogrons quickly stepped down from the truck and placed themselves next to the miniscopes. “GET THEM!” Shouted the man.  
The Doctor quickly placed himself in a fighting position, with his arms and legs broad open. The two ogrons ran towards him like raging bulls running towards a bullfighter, and with his hands mimicking the paws of a tiger he elevated them in an abrupt movement directed towards the ogrons chins. The two huge bodies were stopped like they’d just hit the branch of a three, and fell to their backs unconscious.  
The Pilgrim and the Artist had their mouths open in astonishment.

–Remember, folks: violence is never the answer. – He said, putting his gloves back on.  
 


	4. Spacer

What the Pilgrim noticed when he first entered the UNIT HQ was how primitive human beings could be. Sure, he looked at all the heavy machinery and weaponry with disgust, but not because he disapproved of them, because it only proved to him that the universe had fallen into chaos. The earthlings were obligated to cling on to an exilated Time Lord for protection; such was the planet’s weakness.  
Apparently, they were now in presence of who appeared to be the United Kingdom’s responsible for alien life. He was one of the few that were allowed to freely speak about the life outside of Earth. Pitiful. They hid the existence of alien life, even though it had been at the planet for thousands of years before them. Such was the planet’s fear.   
The Doctor was, indeed, a being of magnificent knowledge, but of outrageous priorities. It appeared to them that his dangerous attempts to fix his broken TARDIS were not his biggest interest. Whenever an alien life-form attempted to begin life on earth, were it by evolution or invasion, he would be there to stop them. He was, to the human beings, what they so reliably called a “science advisor”. Such was the planet’s hope. 

–Are you telling me I’m still stuck on Earth? In the future… – the Doctor said, breaking the silence in the room where stood he, the Artist, the Pilgrim, a girl named Jo and the man known as the Brigadier.   
The Pilgrim decided he’d have to be the one to talk there, for him the Artist’s knowledge was impure, biased and very little.   
–You told us not to say anything about your future. – The Pilgrim came up with a little lie, enough to prevent them into going too much into the Doctor’s life.  
–Well, I suppose I did. – He smiled.  
–P. – The Artist spoke. – Is it time we asked him about it?  
–Yes. – The Pilgrim gave that answer not looking at the others in the room. He stared at the floor. – Doctor, we need the Hand of Omega.  
–What?! – The Doctor’s eyebrows rose, he went pale.   
–Doctor! Omega. He cannot be talking about the fellow in the black hole. – Spoke the Brigadier.  
–Lethbridge Stewart. You and Miss Grant will have to excuse us. – The Doctor said.  
The man pressed his lips, but made a gesture with his hand, looking at the girl, meaning for them to leave the room.  
–Might I say… – Jo Grant placed her hand on the Artist’s shoulder. – You look very lovely.  
–Oh. – He blushed. – Thank you. – A shy smile in his face.  
   
The Doctor walked from side to side of the room. He sighed and looked like he was deep into his own thoughts. “I’m sorry.” He said. He stood still looking at his TARDIS, the big blue box inside the room with its doors closed. “I can’t help you.”

–What? – The Artist shouted. – Why?  
–Your friend, Eken, is it? I’m sorry, she made her choice.  
–No! – He shouted once more.  
–Doctor; – the Pilgrim was calm and spoke in a monotone. – can you tell us why?  
–Do you have any idea what you’re asking me? The Hand of Omega, an artifact of Rassilon, to be used for such meaningless matters!   
–Meaningless?! – The Artist had gotten up from his chair by then.   
The Pilgrim laughed.  
–I’m sorry, do you think this is funny? – Artist directed himself towards his companion.  
–It is! – The Pilgrim pointed at the Doctor. – He doesn’t know, but he’s going to do far worse for much less in the future.  
–Surely I had better reasons! – The old man shouted.  
The Pilgrim laughed even louder.  
–That’s the thing! YOU DON’T. – He got up too, the three Time Lords stood tall. – You grow soft and selfish, you do everything for your friends, and you think you have the universe at the palm of your wrinkled hand; just because you fly around in that thing!   
–I appreciate the insight, Mr. Pilgrim, but I’m obligated to doubt.  
–Then I’m obligated to steal from you. – The Pilgrim quickly pointed the laser-gun he’d hidden in his pocket to the Doctor’s head.  
The Artist went pale that exact moment.   
–Pilgrim, are you sure this is a good idea? – He said, worried.  
–Yes, Pilgrim. – The Doctor did not look worried at all. – Are you sure?

That was the moment when he heard a click in his ear. 

–I suggest you put that down. – Said the Brigadier, holding a revolver to the Pilgrim’s head.

The Pilgrim was sent to a cell at UNIT HQ that same night. The Doctor, believing the Artist had no part in his friend’s terrible schemes, encouraged the Brigadier to let the boy free. As soon as the Artist noticed the time, he remembered that human beings had the habit of resting whenever night fell. He walked slowly from the waiting room at UNIT HQ, deciding that he alone would think about what to do, and just then he’d beg to set the Pilgrim free.  
The black Camaro was parked inside an enormous warehouse. There, the Artist noticed, was also the Doctor’s car, Bessie, shining like a yellow canary that sleeps at night. His footsteps were quiet, and as soon as he placed the key in the car’s door, he heard some after him. The Doctor had come, peacefully; his cape now gave place to a green velvet jacket, which covered a plain white shirt with frilly cuffs and a big collar.

–Well, I can see your cloaking device still works. – He smiled.  
The Artist was quiet and did not feel like talking to the man that refused to help him, but decided antipathy wasn’t leading him anywhere.  
–Yes, I guess. – He smiled. – Though I keep it a car, for practicality.   
–Practicality?  
–Eken and I were always getting into trouble.  
–Oh. That I understand.  
–We helped save a planet once, you know? – The Artist smiled, remembering. Bremèm. – We rescued it from some apes.  
–That was you? – The Doctor was surprised. – My god! The departure from the donokee and the reign of the two kings started the golden age of Bremèm!  
–Well. – He opened the door of the car. – That was mainly Eken’s doing, though.

They both went silent. The Artist noticed it would be impolite to not ask the Doctor to see his TARDIS, which was probably the reason why he went there in the first place. They both entered the car, and the Doctor laughed as it swiveled down to the console room.   
The room, as previously described, didn’t give a warm welcome, but just the sight of another time machine gave the old Time Lord the joy of a child in a candy store. He ignored the amount of paintings lying around and the furniture badly placed. He went straight to the console and gently caressed the buttons on it, a joyful look in his eyes.   
“Octagonal!” He said.  
“I suppose so.” The Artist laughed.  
The Artist, grabbing up some of the paintings on the floor and placing them together, as if he was shameful of the mess, noticed how the man had no eyes for anything else in the room. Nonetheless, he had one of the small paintings of the girl in his hand. He went towards the Doctor, and showed it to him, in silence.

–Artist. – He seemed embarrassed. – I am sorry, that thing, the Hand, I doubt it will lead to any good.  
–Doctor. I am begging you. I told her I’d find her, and that thing might be my only chance. 

The old man turned around, he looked at the wooden easel that was by the side of the wall-sized window. 

–Suppose we manage to get it to work. – He was not looking at the Artist. – What is your plan?  
–The Pilgrim knows how to rig it to my TARDIS. He says we can turn it into some sort of a multi-dimensional mean of transport.

He looked quite confused, the Doctor. His eyes were serious and he had that harsh expression of someone that’s almost willing to do something that they know is wrong.

–The Time Lords. When they exiled me... – He walked around, looking at the paintings that hang on the wall. – They not only broke my TARDIS; they took away my knowledge. I won’t be able to help you.  
–The Pilgrim will.  
–That is what I mean, don’t you see? – He directed his eyes straight into the Artist’s. – Do you trust that nitwit?  
Those words grasped into the Artist’s hearts.  
–I have to. – He concluded.

Fair enough. The Doctor said that by morning the preparations were to be made. The Pilgrim, being removed from the cell, were to see the Hand of Omega, and then they’d set up for whatever he had planned.   
For the Artist, that moment had been crucial. In his eyes the figure of the old man appeared not only strong, it seemed like a burst of light, of holiness; the image that the word hope would have had it been turned humanoid.   
Since they did not want nor needed sleep, they talked for hours of their adventures. The Doctor had a huge amount of stories about those. The man talked of many friends, some of them teachers, youngsters, and a boy with a skirt. The subject of Gallifrey was delivered not with sadness, but with joyful tales about both of their times at the Academy. The Artist, of course, had finished his studies and although not the best, was still a good student; that differed from the Doctor, that never finished learning and flew away with his granddaughter in that funny box.  
Later, over one or two bottles of fine wine, they discussed the implications of dealing with that ancient object. Firstly, the Doctor took a long time trying to understand whatever it was that the Artist meant by saying that Gallifrey had been erased. He understood that in the future a war would happen, and later decided that since he was still in exile; time had found a way to keep his timeline intact. The Artist remembered what the Pilgrim had once told him, that the Doctor had no idea of how time worked around himself. Since he also did not know, they both left it that way.  
The Doctor made sure to ask the Artist every little detail about the Pilgrim. And that was when the old man grew cautiously suspicious. The name of the Master had been mentioned, and the destiny of that man’s TARDIS, left in that wasteland, a damned planet in a pocket dimension. “Do you think that Pilgrim killed your friend?” The Artist asked; his face deepened in worries of the other Time Lord backing off in his decision of helping. “I doubt it, that one’s as cunning as he is evil.” He answered, almost smiling. Nonetheless, the Doctor decided that Pilgrim was not to be trusted.   
 


	5. Bird of Prey

The only light in the cell was of a failing lamp that eventually went dim and bounced back to light in the right corner of the small cell. The rusty metal of the bars gave the place the most sinister appearance, which matched the small grey mattress in the bed, which was the only thing in the room. The guard assigned to take care of the man in it did not last more than two hours without growing scared of him. That strange person only sat there, with his arms crossed and the grimmest look in his eyes. He faced not the man, he did not answer any questions, and he only stared at the other end of the room where the cell was.  
With that said, the guard took no shame in leaving the room alone after five hours since the man had arrived. He went to the garage, where no one except for some of his fellow soldiers were, people he could trust would not rattle him out. Then the cell was alone, and so was the Pilgrim, and that was when the Artist arrived.

–P. – Said the Artist.  
The Pilgrim did not move.  
–P., are you sleeping?   
His eyes were broad open.  
–Hey, answer me.   
–Are you drunk? – Said the Pilgrim.  
–A little but it’s alright. – He smiled. – Hey, I’ve got something to tell you, he’ll do it.  
The Pilgrim got up from the bed and grabbed the bars of the cell.  
–He will?  
–Yeah, but that’s good news. Bad news is that he doesn’t want you to come with me.  
–What? Does he have any idea how bad you are at flying that thing?  
–Hey! I managed it for years before I met you.   
–It’s not going to be only a TARDIS, it’ll move throughout multiple dimensions! – He looked directly into the Artist’s eyes. – It could be dangerous.  
–My middle name’s dangerous. – The Artist laughed.  
–Listen to me, focus. You need me. You can’t go without me.  
The Artist was silent while the Pilgrim begged. His head was spinning but his eyes focused on the time lord’s lips moving slowly as he talked.  
–You’ll need help to find Eken. – He stopped for a second, looking down, like he was trying to remember something. – That man, that man that’s telling you to go alone out there; he’ll eventually see that you can’t do it alone; no one can. Space’s dangerous, you’ll need someone.  
–I’m out to find my someone. – The Artist answered, now looking serious.  
–Let me be there while you’re doing it, then. – The Pilgrim concluded.  
They looked at each other for a little bit, in silence. The Artist then grabbed the screwdriver in the back pocket of his pants and the buzzing sound opened the cell’s door. The Pilgrim did not smile or something like that, he shook his head, like he confirmed what had just happened, meaning to the Artist that it was the right thing to do. “Come on; let’s break some Laws of Time.” He said and kept walking. With the screwdriver in his hand, the Artist thought of Eken.

The Doctor’s TARDIS was big, and it was long till they arrived at a vault inside of it. The big metal door with the white circular pattern felt familiar to the Artist.

–You’ve got them round things too. – He said.  
–They’re roundels, my dear Artist. – The Doctor smiled.

The vault opened and there were many strange objects: robots, wheels, machinery of all shapes and sizes inside of cardboard boxes. 

–There it is. – The Pilgrim said and his face went pale; his blue eyes were shining as he noticed it by the wall, as if it was a simple thing that had no meaning whatsoever. – The Hand of Omega.

That was a coffin, or it looked like one. Dull, rusty, bronze colored and it appeared to be made of simple heavy iron. 

–We’ll have to carry it out of here? –The Artist joked.  
–No need. – The Doctor slowly walked over towards the Hand. His face was serious; one could see a little sweat forming on his forehead. He had the unmistakable appearance of being worried. – It… Recognizes me…

The coffin shook. The air in the room went cold that exact moment, as if the breeze of a snowstorm flew inside. Then it began to levitate. The Artist gasped, and the Pilgrim stood still, his mouth closed and his fists clenched. He too was sweating.

–Shall we? – The Doctor smiled. He was pale, and the box floating behind him gave him some sort of sinister look.

They walked out of the TARDIS. In the Doctor’s working room was placed the big 69’s Camaro.   
The Artist sat inside with the door opened, and in the keyboard that was inside the glove compartment he typed some things. Little round blue circles began floating in the windshield as he closed the door and asked them three to step aside. The car quickly faded, and a sound of something moving inside began. Then, as in the blink of an eye, it was a tall golden cylinder, with a broad open door that opened directly in the central console room.

–How long will you need? – Said the Doctor, looking at the Pilgrim. By his face there was no doubt left that he was only working with the man because the Artist had asked him to.  
–Earth’s technology’s pretty rough. – He looked around, mainly at the Doctor’s table, where all sorts of strange technological objects laid. – Two days, I think.   
–I suppose you won’t need me. – Said the Doctor. – No offense, but I have business of my own to attend.  
The Artist looked a little sad when he heard that.  
–No, I’ll be fine, just borrow me some of your tools and we’ll manage. – Pilgrim concluded.   
–Artist. – The Doctor looked at his new friend. – May I have a word with you in particular? 

They both went inside the blue box and closed the door. The room was mainly white, with many roundels on the walls and the hexagonal console full of buttons gave it a minimalist look. 

–I’m giving you the Hand of Omega, one of the oldest artefacts of our planet. Do not let it fall into the hands of anyone else. I’m fairly sure that if you were not from a strange time where Gallifrey’s vanished, the Time Lords would right now be firing at you with full strength. – He looked serious, with that worried look in his face. He placed his hand on the Artist’s shoulder. – When you’re done, I’ll be happy to get it back from you.  
–You will. I’ll return it safely as soon as I get Eken back. – The Artist confirmed. For a second, he remembered that he was probably older than the Doctor.  
–And when you do, come back here, to 1973, and introduce me to this Miss Eken, friend of yours, will ya? – He smiled.  
The Artist smiled back and shook his head in confirmation. 

The Doctor was absent from that moment onwards. He and Miss Grant had some business to investigate over the Welsh countryside.   
The Pilgrim worked an entire day, after 24 hours he was angry at how primitive Earth’s technology was, and told the Artist that more than two days were be needed. They worked at daylight, and at night, in order to allow sleep to those who needed it at UNIT HQ. They rested inside the Artist’s TARDIS. Over a bottle of wine, which the Pilgrim had grown to enjoy, they talked and even eventually laughed. The Artist thought the Pilgrim how to paint, and the Pilgrim told the Artist how to properly work his time machine. They both grew to have each other’s confidence, and Pilgrim realized that the Artist had a really bad memory of his time back at Gallifrey, or just pretended to do so, for he avoided the subject.  
As they talked over the wall sized window, the coffin-like object, connected by tubes and wires to the octagonal console laid asleep. That was the correct term, because whatever it was, the Hand of Omega gave the impression of bearing a soul.  
 


	6. Wuthering Heights

When the day for their take-off finally arrived, things were not so different to the Artist’s TARDIS. It had reshaped itself as the 69’s Black Camaro on the outside, and inside, the console was wrapped in a dome-like structure made of metal. The Hand was positioned side-by-side with the console, connected by wires and tubes to the underneath of the octagon. The liquid inside the transparent cylinder in the center was colored red, and it looked dense. 

–Time to go. – The Pilgrim said, looking at the Artist, who had a distant look.  
–Oh. – He came back to himself and walked over to the console. – Can’t we wait till he comes back? Say goodbye to the old man…  
The Pilgrim rolled his eyes.   
–It’s a time machine. – He said. – We can come back before he even notices we’re gone.  
The Artist smiled.  
–You do think of everything.  
–I know. – He pressed some buttons and looked up to the screen, then pulled the lever to dematerialize. – This is stage one of our trip. The car will reappear at a more secure place, and there we’ll activate the Hand of Omega.   
–So we won’t put anyone’s lives at risk, right? – Said the Artist.  
–Yeah. – The Pilgrim looked serious, his eyes still pointing towards the screen. – Exactly. 

The car disappeared from the room barely making any noise. The three bursts of sound that it usually made when dematerializing were faint and low.   
The Artist noticed that his hands were trembling, while the Pilgrims were still. The look on his face was of fear, while his friend’s was serene. He looked at the screen, slowly, a beach appeared. Its sand was almost white and the water was of a greyish red. 

–You like the sea, don’t you? – Asked the Pilgrim when the materialization was complete and the beach was clear in the screen.   
–I do. –The Artist wondered for a moment about the question, but answered it with a smile. – How’d you know?  
The Pilgrim looked at the Hand of Omega.  
–Do you know how to swim, Artist? – He said that in a low voice.  
–I… – The Artist looked at him with a strange look, as if he did not understand the question, nor why the Pilgrim was asking him those things. – I don’t.  
–I knew that too. – The Pilgrim smiled.   
He walked over to the Pilgrim, who had his eyes still on the Hand of Omega.   
– Pilgrim. What’s going on with you?  
–I’m sorry, Archie. – He pulled a small laser gun out of his pocket. – It’s not personal.   
The Artist gasped. His legs did not seem to move, but his hands tried to touch the console. When he finally got a grip of the lever that dematerialized, his hand burned as he touched it. The Pilgrim pointed the gun towards the Artist’s head.  
–Well, it is a little personal. – He had on that sinister smile of his. – Honestly, you’re just stressfully dumb.

With the gun he shot the Artist, who was pushed by the impact of the laser to the other side of the room. He was thrown against the car seats and even before his eyes were fully opened, noticed that the Pilgrim was pulling the new lever he had installed on the console, said to be the one that activated the Hand of Omega.  
In a second, a buzzing sound was heard, and then gravity seemed to increase rapidly in the room. Everything began to shake and the paintings on the walls either flew or fell. The Artist looked at the console, and there was the Pilgrim smiling and looking at the Hand of Omega. The eight pillars of metal which formed the dome surrounding the console began to shine, and as the dense red liquid in the cylinder commenced to gurgle, lights began to surround it too. The sound was getting louder and the gravity was increasing. The Artist figured that if he was to stay where he was he’d soon be crushed by the increasing gravity. He climbed up to the driver seat and looked to the console again. The Pilgrim laughed loudly as the light grew brighter, hiding himself beneath it. With his hands already hurt he pulled the lever to make the car’s seats go up. Abruptly swiveling he went up and exited the car just as quickly. The entire Camaro’s bodywork was shaking. He fell to the wet white sand and kicked the door to close it. The car’s metal was boiling hot and he began to feel the pain of the gunshot in his hearts. As the sound of the engine grew, he noticed it was like the scream of a robotic voice, deafeningly high. He closed his eyes and the last thing he heard before fainting was an explosion.  
 


	7. Nocturne op.9 No.2

The Artist woke hours later, he noticed that for the sun had set and just the light of two moons shone upon him. Firstly, he noticed the car stood there as if nothing had happened. Then, that his hands were still the same: he had not regenerated. Lastly, he looked around, nothing, just the beach. He touched the car’s bodywork, feeling its temperature, afraid it was too cold. More than that, it had not that feeling, that vibration it usually had, the one thing that resembled a living being’s pulse in the machine. A tear run down his right cheek, and as he pressed his forehead against the car’s door, another went down his left.   
He stood there for five or six minutes, then he opened the door. The vision of what was inside scared him. There was no light inside, only emptiness. The steering wheel was hanging down, connected to the panel only by a few black wires. The miniature of the octagonal cylinder was broken, like a snow globe that fell to the ground. The seats of the car were down and crushed, as if the act of taking him up was the car’s last effort to save his life. He jumped inside, letting the car’s door open.   
It was cold inside. The vision of the console room made him cry, for his art was crushed to the ground, his ink sachets and paint paintbrushes were scattered all over the floor. The wall-sized window was partially open, its metal cover half hanging off the ceiling, and outside you could see the beach. The circular patterns on the walls no longer had their dim red light, some of them looked like broken glass, and some of them displayed the circuits inside. He walked over to the center, and where once was the octagonal console, laid only an empty hole. No buttons and levers, no console, no cylinder, no heart of the TARDIS.

It took him a while to walk over to the corridors, for his legs moved very slowly and his hands trembled. Things appeared to be in order out of the console room, everything was dark, but nothing had been crushed by the increased gravity of Pilgrim’s departure from earlier. He grabbed one of the bikes and went rapidly to the room where the Eye of Harmony was. When he finally got there, at the center of the room stood the small pillar with a circular shape in the middle; the Seal of Rassilon. It didn’t, however, have its characteristic blue light. He pressed his hand against it and nothing happened.  
“You’d only open for her…” He whispered to himself. 

An hour later he was seating outside, seating alone on the sand. The air could be seen leaving his mouth, for the night was cold and he trembled inside the heavy long red parka he was wearing. He cried in silence, looking at the stars, trying to figure out the constellations on the night’s sky, or some indication of which moons were those. He then remembered Eken’s old hoverbike inside the trunk.   
The bike hovered through the beach as long as he drove; only its sound and the seas could be heard in the emptiness of the night. He found no living being there, it seemed to him that he’d be lost in no time if he kept on going, for the beach was long and endless. After hours he turned around and placed the bike back in the trunk. He lay down on the sand, his head covered in the fur of the parka, the light of the moons shining on the red sea.  
The Artist was not one to hate anyone, but no good thoughts came to his mind in that moment. The Pilgrim had betrayed him, leaving him stranded on an unknown planet with a dead TARDIS. He thought of the Doctor, wishing there was some way for him to contact the man. He thought of Gallifrey, and of Eoropa and Cewal. He thought of Eken, his best friend, her beautiful smile, her joyful laughter.   
He opened his eyes in a fuss, noticing the moons had gone up a little bit. He’d passed asleep for a couple hours, perhaps, without realizing. Then the strangest thing happened.  
 


	8. The Crystal Ship

–You have a boat, boy? – Said the man with a German accent.   
The Artist had his eyes on the canvas, placing blue ink on the picture he was painting. It was of an old man that was in front of him, and the woman beside him, his wife. They both sat on little wooden benches, and the little village around them lived up its golden days of prosperity, with children playing and young folks dancing and laughing.  
–Boat… – He muttered, lifting the paintbrush up and looking at the man with a smile. – You could say I have a ship.  
–Oh, that’s good. – The man smiled too. – I had one too.  
–Apsel, tell him about the day you lost the ship. – The woman said, gently tapping his husband’s shoulder.  
–You lost your ship? – The Artist asked, with a sad tone in his voice.  
–Well, it was a small ship, of course, simple, to say the least; but it was a precious little thing to me. I regret going further onto the sea that day, I knew, you see, I knew there was a storm coming, but it was one of those days where the sailor’s lucky and catches more fish than usual, so I carried on. When the clouds began to get grey I realized the crew was startled, they were afraid, anxious…  
–Turn over to the side a little, will ya, sir? – The Artist kept his eyes on the canvas.   
–But I went on with the trip anyway… – The man turned over his head a little bit and kept on with the story. – When the storm hit us it was sudden, like no one expected it even though we knew it was coming. I gave orthers to everyone. “Grab that hope!” and “Hold it tight to the wheel!” I shouted, but deep inside I knew we were all going to go down that day. My men knew too, and some of them cried and ran inside, the others courageously kept on trying their best to keep the ship steady on the raging sea.  
–Must’ve been scary. – The Artist said, looking at the wife now, she seemed captivated by her old husband.   
–It was, but I’m here, am I not? – He laughed. – That’s because of what happened next. To that day I was never one to believe much in the stories that we tell children, and my father used to tell me about him, but I never believed, but then there he was, in my ship.  
The Artist did not move for a second, paying full attention to the man’s tale.  
–He was seating on the ship’s bowsprit, ignoring completely all the fuss on the ship. He was not how I’d imagined him, no, he was small, bent. He had a yellowish coat, with a hood covering his head. I tell you, in that storm, the darkness upon him; that was the most sinister thing I’d ever seen. His faced was wrinkled, almost entirely covered in a shaggy white beard and his eyes looked almost evil to me. His hands looked like he’d just come out of the sea, like he was a merman or something, covered in algae. I would not have realized who he was, wasn’t for the little hammer in his right hand.  
–I’m sorry. – The Artist interrupted the man. – Who was it, sir?  
–Oh. Yes. – The man laughed. – I forget not everyone’s from these parts these days.   
His eyes wandered, looking at the horizon behind the Artist.  
–Klabautermann. – He said.  
The Artist made a funny face, not understanding exactly.  
–He’s the spirit of the ship, you see. He comes to us wandering sailors, poor fishermen, whenever there’s trouble. Sometimes he’s there to punish us, sometimes he’s there to warn us of the danger to come; that night, he was there to save us.  
–What happened next?  
–Well, everything’s kind of a fuss, really. I was knocked over by a flying barrel, not soon after I saw him. – He laughed. – But then the sun was shining, and the ship had reached the shore.  
–Well, how come you’ve lost it then? Hadn’t one of your men gotten you guys to the shore?  
–That’s the thing, son, there was no way the ship could’ve reached the shore. The masts were in pieces, the rudder was broken in half, and later on we found out that the keel had long before that been rotten. It was a miracle the ship even made its last trip. They say the Klabautermann appreciates everything the crew’s done for the ship; and me and those fellows back in the day sure loved that ship. I believe his last wish was to save us.  
The Artist was silent.  
–I’m alive thanks to that little man, I tell you. Just hope that if you’re ever in trouble, he’ll be there in your ship too. – The man concluded the story.  
–Well, I’ll sure to remember that. – The Artist smiled, turning over the picture so they could see the result.

That was the memory that came to the Artist’s mind when, stranded on an unknown planet, with his TARDIS dead for having its heart ripped out, he noticed a small man seating on top of the front hood.  
He jumped behind, scared, letting out a little shout, but the man did not move. He was like a ghost of sorts, not quite solid, with a skin that’s sort of transparent but also visible enough for you to know that it is there. He shone, almost entirely made of light, serenely; his little legs crossed as he sat in a lotus position, fumbling with a little smoking pipe in his hand. He looked up to the Artist, and his eyes were sinister, big and round, covered in the shadow of the yellow hood in his head.

–I… – The Artist tried to talk. – Are you…  
The man only looked at him, not moving.   
–Klabautermann.   
No answer came.  
–You’re… – He looked at the car. – A ghost.  
The little old man kept on clumsily messing with the pipe.  
–That’s… – The Artist walked over to the car and opened the door, abruptly. – That’s got to be a security protocol or something.   
The car was still dark and empty, broken, dead.   
–How? – He asked the man, or he asked himself about the man sitting on the hood, visible through the windshield. 

The little man finally lighted the pipe and let out a two puffs of smoke, and then he finally stood on the car’s hood. He was very short, the size of a child; and his white beard reached his knees. In a little jump he touched the ground. He looked out to the calm sea, in silence, smoking. The Artist gave a few steps behind, nervous.  
Then the man turned over to him and went to the car’s door. That made the Artist even more nervous, but as he thought of the sailor’s story and how the little man there matched the description, he thought of it as a good omen, and so let the situation go on. The little man’s wrinkled hand opened the door and he looked inside. He vanished in a little jump inside the car and the Artist, startled, followed.  
When they reached the console room the man walked all over it, slowly. Puffing out smoke from his pipe. He looked up to the Artist, that was just standing there, sad, scared. “Yeah, I know, it’s in pretty bad shape.” He said to the man, feeling his judgmental eyes upon him.   
The man started to walk into the corridors, and the Artist decided to follow. Everything seemed dark and cold. They walked for a couple hours, for the man stopped every once in a while and fumbled with the pipe again and again. The Artist was silent the entire way, and recognized that most of the corridors they were going through were either not there before or unknown to him.   
Then suddenly the little man stopped. He did not mess with the pipe that time, for it was already lighted, but he opened his coat and grabbed something on his yellow coat. A little wooden hammer was in his hand as he knocked three times on the wall, and suddenly there was a door. That door was plain white, its knob made of silvery metal. The little man pointed towards it, and the Artist, still stupefied, touched the cold knob. It did not open. The man shrudded, but quickly looked up again and pointed towards the Artist’s overall pocket. The Time Lord looked at it and grabbed the one tool he kept there; the sonic screwdriver the Doctor had given him. He pointed the screwdriver towards the knob and it opened in a tick.


	9. A Horse With No Name

The Artist woke up with the sun shining in his eyes, accompanied by the loud sound of the waves breaking at the beach. As he tried to make sense of what had happened, he saw the car with its doors closed, just as he’d left it the night before, then re realized that he had dreamed the entire business with the little man.  
He sat there for a couple more minutes, reflecting upon how he would leave the place. He then thought that if there was some way to fix the TARDIS, it wouldn’t be found there, mopping on a beach, it’d be inside. He got up and slowly went to the car, and to his surprise the key was in the door. He reached for his pocket, where the key of the car was, and there she was, but as tried to replace the one in the lock with his usual key, the car did not open. This new key was a fairly simple one, silvery-like, small, but in the round bow the words “keep on going” were written. As the door of the car opened, the Artist almost did not realize that the usual warmness on the metal bodywork was back, and then he realized that the car was not destroyed like the night before.  
The seats had been replaced with new dark brown leather, and the panel displayed a vintage radio set in the center, and as he touched the new dark brown steering wheel, he noticed the Seal of Rassilon on the center of it. As he pulled the gear lever, the car seats swiveled down slowly, softly, and he gasped to the view of an entire new console room.  
Reminding him of his days on the Gallifreyan Museum, the walls were tall and imposing, made of what looked like a nice light brown wood. There, well-polished holes opened to shining circles, the roundels as described by the Doctor. A spiral staircase with bronze handrails led to a second floor where bookshelves stood tall. At one side, the wall displayed a window that showed the beach outside. There also stood a wooden easel with a blank canvas on it. The dome-shaped hall had a small round stage at the center, three steps high, where stood the console.   
The Artist came closer and noticed that the familiar feeling of the console was there, as if the heart of the TARDIS pulsated to the warm touch of its old friend. Then he realized: that was a hexagonal console. He smiled and gently passed his fingers through the buttons. The cylinder at the center was slowly going up and down, small colorful glass panes inside of it. There, at one of the six parts of the new console, he found his screwdriver. He grabbed it and thought of the dream he’d had that night. Then a sound got his attention. The screen that stood mobile at the other side of the console made a beep, and when he finally understood the numbers it displayed he realized they were coordinates. The TARDIS was telling him to go back to 2017’s St Luke.


	10. In the Face of Evil

–Can you feel it too? – The Doctor asked, his eyes covered by the dark sunglasses.  
–Yes. – Missy replied. – Something is happening out there in the cosmos.   
She turned her head and looked at him with a sarcastic smile.  
–And it just kills you that you can’t see it. – She said.

Nardole and Bill had just finished their second game of chess. Bill read an H.G. Wells book that the Doctor had on his desk, while Nardole, sulky for having lost the two games, fixed them a cup of tea. It was a peaceful evening, at least until three loud bursts of sound were heard outside. The Doctor exited the vault in a fuss, running outside to see what the source of the sound was, but just as he got outside, Nardole and Bill arriving moments after him, nothing was there; just smoke and tire marks on the grass of the courtyard.

–Nardole. – The Doctor said.  
–Oh. Yes. – Nardole stood still, opening and closing his hands nervously. – What could’ve been the source of those tire marks on the grass?  
Bill made a confused face.  
–It’s an invisible car, for sure. – She said.

Suddenly a thin line of light appeared out of thin air. Then an eye was visible.

–It’s me. – The Artist whispered.  
–It’s the Artist! – Bill exclaimed with a smile.   
–Is it safe to get out? – He said.  
–Yeah, come on, no one minds anything but their smartphones these days. – The Doctor smiled, even though no student other than Bill was at the campus that time into the evening.   
–What’s a smartphone? – The Artist said, opening the door and exiting the car.  
–Artist. – The Doctor giggled. – What brings you back?   
–Well… things didn’t go exactly as planned. 

Inside, the Artist explained the situation, from the day they met the younger Doctor to the Pilgrim’s rushed departure. The Doctor listened carefully. He broke the silence asking the Artist if he had any idea where the man could’ve gone, explaining how dangerous it’d be for the entirety of the Universe to have the Hand of Omega being used to devious means. 

–I have no idea, I’m sorry. – The Artist answered, sad.  
–Seems like you don’t know him that well. – The Doctor said.  
–Well, he wasn’t exactly an easy person. – The Artist looked down, thinking. – I… well, there’s something. Back to when we first met, we were stuck in this pocket dimension, and when shit got real he went on about how he was fucked in the head ever since he looked into the Untempered Schism.  
That got the Doctor’s attention.  
–What did he see? – He asked.  
–He said he saw other dimensions. – The Artist tried hard to remember. – He’d say some things about… I don’t know… I remember Eken saying he thought he was a god, and he screamed about being the future of the universe or something. He told us about how he’d see multiple dimensions every time he closed his eyes.  
–And he never mentioned those things again?   
–No.  
–He needed your TARDIS. He needed you to get to me because he knew he’d never be able to steal the Hand from me. – The Doctor said; he took his sunglasses off and led his hands through his grey hair. – Tell me, Artist. Can you feel something off with the flow of time?  
–Well… Now that you mention it, something’s wrong, right? Like, I don’t know, time’s… running out…   
–He’s on Gallifrey.   
–What?! – The Artist jumped out of the chair. – How can he be on Gallifrey? It’s gone! You exploded it!  
The Doctor laughed.  
–Yes. I thought I did too. But it was secured. It’s positioned at a very…  
The Artist interrupted him, banging both his hands on the desk.  
–You’re telling me Gallifrey’s not gone?  
–Well, it was, it is…? In some places in time? – He looked confused. – You know, it’s hard to explain.  
–Hard? – He was pale. – To explain? I thought our planet had vanished from time! It had! No one knew what a Time Lord was! – He was shouting.  
–Well, I fixed it, okay?! I’m even Lord President or something now…  
The Artist fell to the chair again; he placed his hands on his head, with a distant look in his face.   
–Fuuuck… – He let out.  
–Artist. We have to go. If the Pilgrim’s up to what I think he is, he’s about to do something even I won’t be able to fix.  
–Man, you’re just full of surprises. – The Artist said, still in shock.  
–Wait till you meet the one with the scarf. – He smiled. 

As the Artist got up the Doctor ran towards the TARDIS, but he stopped in front of it. Bill looked at him in silence, and so did Nardole, who had a worried look on his face. No one noticed but his hands trembled as he tried to touch the TARDIS’ key hole. 

–Doctor… – Said Nardole.  
–Yes… – He said, looking down. – Artist, I’ll have to sit this one out.   
–What? Why? – He exclaimed.  
–You’ll... – He looked at Bill. Better said, he pointed his eyes towards where the sonic sunglasses indicated Bill was. – It’s your time to be a hero. I have something to take care of here.  
–Man, I need your help!   
–You don’t. You managed without me, you helped to save Bremèm, that was all you.  
–I had Eken! – He shouted.  
–And do you want her back or not? – The Doctor went closer to him, talking loudly.  
The Artist was silent, perspiration being noticeable in his forehead.   
–You’ll go to Gallifrey, you’ll stop him whatever it takes, you’ll take back the Hand of Omega before any Time Lord finds out that thing’s with me, you hear?  
Took him a while to say something.  
–Is it because you’re blind? – He whispered, so that only he Doctor would hear.  
He was silent.  
–I’ll give you the coordinates. – He finally said. – Go now, we don’t want every single thing turning into the Pilgrim. Believe me I have a crazy friend that tried that once, it was awful.  
–What if I can’t stop him?  
–“Can’t” is not an option in the business we’re in, Artist.  
–What business is it?   
–The “stranger with a time machine that comes to save the world” business. 

Inside the car, the Artist typed the coordinates on the keyboard, and as they appeared on the windshield he muttered to himself: “I don’t want to save the world I just want to paint.”  
 


	11. Danse Macabre

When Pilgrim shot the Artist he had no thoughts on his mind other than to finally get his revenge upon his people. His plan had worked perfectly, from the moment he accidentally met the Artist to the last second when that man’s emotions led him straight into his final abyss.   
Now the improvised dimension manipulator worked perfectly fine. As the Pilgrim laughed, the Hand of Omega made a buzzing sound; stressfully materializing back to the place it had once ran away from: Gallifrey. The home planet of the Time Lords shone bright at the final moments of the universe. Pilgrim’s eyes could not believe what he saw when he finally got there, the citadel rebuilt, in all its majesty, the orange sky burning as the energy from the end of all that there is was next to it. How beautifully the Time Lords worked, having frozen time as it prepared to finally die, not realizing that their demise would be in the hands of one that they’d long forgotten.  
The Citadel shook as the Pilgrim touched the coffin where the Hand stood, the Time Lords alarmed ran to their posts, trying to figure out what caused the seismic activity. Meanwhile on the wasteland, the sand from the ground arose, circling the metal dome where the Dimension Manipulator stood. The Pilgrim’s eyes burned blue, seeming like stars passed inside his iris. He lifted up his arms and iron structure arose from the ground of Gallifrey: he was building a TARDIS.

–Now my TARDIS won’t be born out of life. – He laughed and shouted on the wasteland, alone. – This machine will be born out of fear, out of despair and death!

The structure formed itself like an iron skeleton, connecting to one another like bones of a living creature. As the Hand of Omega’s coffin trembled, the transparent cylinder on the octagonal console that was previously from the Artist’s TARDIS shook and the red liquid inside of it bubbled nervously. 

–Ma’am. You might want to take a look at this. – Said the soldier standing in front of a screen.  
–Where’s this now? – The General said as she approached the monitor.  
–Mountains not so Far East. – He responded. – The seismic activity from earlier today is a response to this. 

On the screen, only the metal structure forming on top of the Pilgrim’s console could be seen.

–Approach the center of that structure, would you? – Said the General.

The soldier pressed a button and there was the Pilgrim, running around like a kid, but waving his arms like a maestro as the skeleton of his TARDIS formed.

–Now what is going on in there? – She said, suspicious. – Call me a ship, will you?   
–Yes Ma’am.  
–Who’s the commander available?  
He rapidly typed in the keyboard and the image of a white woman with brown short hair appeared.  
–Commander Eoropa, Ma’am. – He responded.  
–Oh no, not that one. – She said as she grabbed a weapon. – Call her down, we’re checking out what’s the fuss in there.

When a big metal dome formed around the console, the Pilgrim laughed and typed down something in the keyboard on the console. The liquid on the cylinder bubbled abruptly and the coffin shone brighter. Dark grey walls arose from the ground covering up the dome.

–You see, Omega… – The Pilgrim said out loud, looking at the Hand that seemed to shake even harder inside the coffin when hearing its name. – You were a genius, I’ll give you that, but you lacked the will! ¬  
His laughter was mixed to the sound of sparks coming out of the console and the thuds of the metal still melting as it formed the TARDIS’s skeleton.  
–Rassilon was mighty; he barely cared after you were erased from time. – He laughed. – He took care of your civilization… of course. And now, the oldest civilization, in all its majesty, no… they could not see what you’d really done.   
The coffin shook as if it were alive, the wires connected to it holding it down to the ground beneath the console.   
–But I’m about to show them, do not worry. – He said in a low tone, his sweaty face and messy hair reflected on the console’s cylinder.

Eoropa grabbed her dark green cape and uniform nervously. With difficulty she tried to adjust her shoulder pads, unaccustomed to the newer models of the soldier clothing, very different from the time where she was from, the before-Time War Gallifrey. She tied her smooth brown hair and put on the helmet, smiling a little in front of the dirty mirror of her room before running to the garage where she was to meet the General.  
Eoropa did not mind to ask the messenger what mission she was being sent on, for she was not being called much those days. After the war much had happened to her, and word out was she had gotten a little mad over the stuff she saw in the universe. But she did not worry, proud to be who she had once been, she picked up the weapon with her trembling hands and rushed herself to the harbor.  
“Commander Eoropa presenting, Ma’am.” She said loudly with her squeaky voice to the General. 

–We’ll be ground and the pilot crew’ll be back-up; agreed? – The General said promptly.  
–Agreed, Ma’am. – She replied, entering the time capsule the General pointed to. – May I ask you what’s our mission, Ma’am?  
–It’s routine. – She replied, rolling her eyes. – Some wacko doing something out in the mountains. – She sat down and looked at the pilot crew, speaking technical terms to all six of themselves. – We’ll identify him as soon as we get there.  
–Roger that, Ma’am. – Eoropa concluded. 

The soldiers’ TARDIS materialized not far from where the Pilgrim was, his dome structure now completely covering the console. He continued to rapidly type information on the console as he heard the sound of the soldier’s TARDIS materializing. He descended down the steps that arose from the ground to lift the console and looked down to the floor. As his eyes pointed to the floor, he saw the outside, where the eight soldiers descended the rocks of the mountain. 

–I knew you wouldn’t be long… – He smiled.   
 


	12. When the truth is found to be lies

–Shit… – The Artist said as he first gazed at the orange sky of Gallifrey. – It really is beautiful out here, isn’t it? I’d totally forgotten about it. – He was smiling, with little tears forming in his eyes.  
The car had its engine on, the sound coming out of it being the only thing heard on the wasteland. Only two or three trees appeared on the view out the window of the black Camaro.   
–Alright, Archie. – He looked at the windshield, partially displaying the planet and partially displaying letters indicating what part of it he was on. – We’ve got to find that dickhead, don’t we?   
His fingers reached to the radio where a loud sound of electric guitar started. Then as he gently pressed his foot on the accelerator the sound of a piano went on mixing with the loud engine.  
“Ah, keep your eyes on the road, your hand upon the wheel” said the voice of a man in the music. The car drove off rapidly to the horizon, its wheels smoking out in the grassy ground. The now replaced miniature of the console on top of the panel oozed, slowly going up and down in its new hexagonal base. “Let it roll, baby, roll, let it roll, baby, roll” went on the song, and the Artist sang to it, looking front and smiling at every little thing in his way, for that was his home-world where he was driving in.

Now the General and Eoropa finally arrived closer to the Pilgrim’s forming structure. They reached it unable to hear much of their words for the sound of the metal was almost deafening. 

–NOW, EOROPA. – Shouted out the General.  
–YES MA’AM.  
–WE’LL NEED TO CHECK OUT HIS IDENTITY FIRST, I’M PRETTY SURE AN OUTSIDER WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO DO THIS. – She continued.  
–CAN’T IT BE THE LORD PRESIDENT, MA’AM? – Eoropa asked.  
–IT CAN, ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE WITH THAT MAN. BUT NO, I BELIEVE THIS IS SOMETHING ELSE.  
Eoropa grabbed a little machine that resembled a transparent glass screen on her belt’s pocket. The thing displayed the traditional circles of Circular Gallifreyan.   
–IDENTIFIER READY. – Eoropa said, nervously.  
–No need for that. – Said the Pilgrim.   
His voice was so loud it exceeded the metal sound. The two women looked at him startled, the general only standing still but Eoropa quickly pointing the identifier at him. The little screen took a minute to calculate, much to Eoropa’s fear, because it usually only took a second for it to identify whoever the Time Lord was by checking up their minds on the Matrix.  
–He’s… Vallfarda. – Eoropa said, her face going pale as she exhaled the word.  
–That… – The General gasped. – Cannot be…  
–My my… – The Pilgrim said, smiling. – That is my name, isn’t it? – He laughed. – So long since I’ve last been called by it.  
–You were dead. – The General said. – Thousands of years before I was even born, you were sucked into a black hole as did Omega!  
–Tell me, did they tell stories about me? – He continued to smile. – To prevent you from experimenting on multi-dimensional travel, perhaps…   
They were both silent.   
–Well? – He continued.  
–Well… – The General looked at Eoropa.  
–You must be really old. – Said Eoropa.  
–What do you mean? – He looked confused.  
–Multi-dimensional travel’s been going on in Gallifrey for centuries…   
–What? – He gasped.  
–Yeah, man, TARDISes even have like security codes for us not to accidentally travel to the void or something. – She even smiled a little.   
–Are you… – His eyes seemed to express utter rage. – You cannot be serious.  
–Oh but we are… – The General gave a few steps closer to him. – It was illegal back when you tried it but our technology has evolved much ever since that.  
–SHUT UP! – He shouted rising his hand. – YOU FOOLS ARE LYING!  
The General stopped and Eoropa quickly pointed her gun towards the Pilgrim.  
–Come now, Vallfarda… – The General tried to say, but was interrupted by him.  
–MY NAME IS THE PILGRIM! – He shouted, his voice sounding like a thunder as his eyes blazed with blue light. – I WILL BURN THIS PLANET TO THE GROUND, I WILL DO WHAT THE DOCTOR COULD––

Although Eoropa’s legs trembled, as did her arms holding the gun, and the General gasped in surprise to what had just went on, it took them a while to realize that their lives were in terrible danger a second before when the Pilgrim was shouting.  
That is a second before, because now, at incredible speed, his body had just been thrown away by what appeared to be a black 1969’s Camaro that jumped out of nowhere, with a strange young man inside, which to the sound of “Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody To Love” guitar shouted: “DON’T YOU WANT SOMEBODY TO LOVE?”

The car was half frozen, with smoke coming out of underneath its hood, and as the little man opened the door he stared down at the body of the Pilgrim, that trembled almost unconscious, unaware to exactly what had just happened.

–Oh, hey there, buddy. – He said, strongly kicking the Pilgrim’s stomach. – Didn’t see you, sorry for running you over. – He smiled sarcastically.  
–You… – The Pilgrim said, slowly trying to get up. – I thought I’d killed you.  
The Artist kicked him once more.   
–KEEP DOWN! – He shouted.

The Artist was surely unaware of the other two Time Lords present. 

–Now who’s that supposed to be? – The General said; inpatient.  
Eoropa was silent.  
–Commander! – The General said once more as she looked at her. – Identify him!  
Eoropa was pale, trembling. She dropped down the identifier.   
–That one’s the Artist, Ma’am.

–YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD ME DOWN, DIDN’T YOU, DUMBASS? – The Artist kicked him in the stomach once more. – YOU TRAITOR FUCK!  
–ENOUGH! –The Pilgrim shouted, with his voice once more sounding like thunder.   
He abruptly raised his hand, and as if gravity had struck him in the body, the Artist flew and bumped hard into the metal structure behind him. The Pilgrim took the time to get up in a jump and to run towards the door of the metal structure that was on the other side.   
–Little fuck! – The Artist said, coughing.  
As he noticed the Pilgrim running he ran after him, circling the metal dome.

–What exactly is happening? – The General said.   
–I’ve no idea, Ma’am. – Said Eoropa.

Inside the metal dome, the Pilgrim was already typing something down on the keyboard as the Artist entered it and screamed:  
–COM’ERE!   
–GET OUT! – The Pilgrim answered, pointing his right hand towards him, and as the coffin where laid the Hand of Omega shook in its place, the Artist flew towards the wall.   
–WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOU? – The Artist shouted as his back hit the silvery metal.   
–WITNESS, ARTIST! – He shouted and pulled down the red lever on the console; a loud thud was heard coming out of nowhere.

Outside, the orange sky of Gallifrey suddenly started to grow dark, and as the General noticed she screamed on her communicator calling for back up: the metal dome was shining, and as the buzzing sound coming out of it grew louder and louder it began to decrease in size. 

–EVERYTHING THAT EVER WAS OR EVER WILL BE IS GOING TO BECOME ONE WITH MY MIND! – He shouted inside the metal structure which walls now began to display the usual circular pattern familiar to most TARDISes. – I WILL BE EVERY UNIVERSE!  
–NOW WHY WOULD SOMEONE WANT SOMETHING STUPID LIKE THAT?! – The Artist shouted back, struggling to free himself of the strong gravitational pull on the wall.  
–I told you, Artist! – He shouted and continued to laugh loudly. – You’re too DUMB to see!   
The Artist suddenly fell to the ground, punching the recently formed metal floor of the TARDIS. He looked up at the Pilgrim and both of the man’s eyes were blazing with anger.  
–What the fuck? – The Pilgrim startled as the Artist freed himself from the gravitational pull. – HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS? – He started abruptly pointing his hands towards the Artist, opening and closing them.  
The young man seemed to struggle with each and every push.  
–Don’t you want… – He spoke, his lips pressed against each other. – Somebody to love?...   
–WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOL? – He continued to push, with one of his hands on the console and the other pointing towards the Artist. – STOP FIGHTING!  
–Don’t you… – His steps were hard and slow, his stripped shirt with a rocket figure was dripping with sweat. – NEED… – He was very slowly drawing near to the console. – SOMEBODY TO LOVE?  
–WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  
–WOULDN’T YOU LOVE SOMEBODY TO LOVE? – He climbed up the stairs, his hands grasping with incredible strength, and although they trembled they held him as his eyes fixated themselves on his opponent.  
–STOP IT! – The Pilgrim shouted, his hand now trembling too. He looked down at the coffin of the Hand and the thing was shaking as if it wanted to free itself from the wires. – NO! – He shouted.  
Suddenly, as he looked back at the Artist, the Time Lord stood tall in front of him, dripping in sweat, from his badly cut thin brown hair to the startling smile in his face.  
–You better find somebody to love. – He said, in a low tone, smiling.   
His leg abruptly rose and kicked the Pilgrim in the stomach. The Time Lord flew behind with the incredible strength put into the violent move, blood coming out of his mouth.

–Now will someone get me to the Lord President’s line, please? – Said the General to the ten men standing outside, pointing their guns to the small sphere floating. Some of them uselessly tried to open the car’s door.  
–Ma’am! – Eoropa shouted. I think it’s opening. – She pointed at the sphere.

Out of it, came the Artist, his skin red and a silly smile on. By his right hand, he held the Pilgrim, sobbing.

–Artist. – Said Eoropa.  
It took him a while to realize who the girl was.   
–My god… – His eyes filled with tears the exact same moment he realized who she was. – It’s you!   
He ran towards her and her instinct was to raise her gun and point it towards his chest. He stopped for a second and they both looked at each other in the eyes. She tossed the gun on the ground and ran towards him, both of them jumping into each other’s arms.  
–You’re alive! – He said, crying. – Eoropa, I thought I’d killed you.  
–I looked for you. – Eoropa replied, she too was crying. – For years I looked for you.

The Pilgrim, trembling in the ground, sobbing, looked at the silvery sphere that was his TARDIS. Beneath the tears rapidly forming, his blue eyes looked like they were a bright night’s sky, with interstellar gas and dying stars in it. He knew the Hand of Omega, one of the most valuable artefacts of the Time Lords was inside of it, and he wanted to scream out that it was, but the object had betrayed, failed him. He looked at his hands; they looked like they’d been very badly burned.  
 


	13. Carry On Wayward Son

Everything that happened next was really fast and abrupt to say the least. “I believe that you are hugging a renegade, Commander.” Said the General, with a serious tone in her voice. “That man is a wanted criminal.” It was then that the Artist realized what the Doctor had told him, he’d have to take back the Hand of Omega before the Time Lords found out about it. “To be fair, Ma’am, our Lord President is a wanted criminal.” Eoropa said, and just as her voice toned down, a loud and mechanic whooshing sound. 

–Merry Christmas. – Said the Doctor, taking off his sunglasses as he exited the TARDIS.   
–Lord President. – Said the General, nervously saluting him.  
–I believe we are done here. – He said, looking down at the Pilgrim.   
–You can see! – The Artist exclaimed, smiling.  
–Yes, fixed it last week with monk magic or something. – He smiled. – General, this man’s my friend. – He pointed at the Artist. – Now the other’s just a mess, really. –He pointed at the Pilgrim.

The Doctor talked the General into allowing all of them to enter the citadel, where their business was to be dealt with. Now, the Artist knew that was him carelessly drawing their attention out of the place where the Hand of Omega was placed. The metal sphere kept on floating. The black Camaro stayed there. They were now at the Citadel of the Time Lords.

–What will happen to him? – The Artist asked the General, as the guards violently tossed the Pilgrim inside a cell.   
–You know what happens to dangerous criminals. – She said, looking at the Artist with disgust.   
–You don’t mean…  
–Shada. – She replied dryly. – Where he is to be kept for eternity.  
The Artist looked sad, his eyes kept on the trembling Pilgrim, now weak and sobbing, lay in a fetal position.

A day passed, the Artist was provided a room, the Doctor, much to his demise, was obligated to deal with the bureaucracy of having two ancient wanted criminals on Gallifrey and not having the General know about it. When he finally got time to talk to the Artist, they both stood on a balcony looking down at the wasteland of Gallifrey.

–You did it. – The Doctor said, smiling. – I knew you had it in you.  
The Artist was silent for a moment.  
–I still can’t believe I’m at Gallifrey, after all these years. – He seemed sad.  
–You’re welcome to stay. – He placed his hands on the balcony. – I believe the museum’s looking for curators.   
–You know, Doctor. There was this day, when I and Eken were talking, and I told her that I needed her because I had nowhere to go back, because I thought Gallifrey was gone and that it was the only place for me to be.   
–But… – The Doctor had a smug smile on.  
–But… – The Artist put on the same smile. – Now that I’m here, I remember how boring and sad my days were at the museum. I look down at Gallifrey now and I think of how people barely smiled, most of the time not even one kid showed up, and I never got to painting. And then I ran away from the war, and it was days after I had the courage to pilot that TARDIS, and it took me to that strange Dronid planet.  
The Doctor listened carefully.  
–And there I met Eken. And it was all running from the police and paintings and laughing at stupid jokes and horrible movies from Earth and music all around. – He could barely contain his smile. – Now I just can’t sit around not knowing where she is, ‘cause I want her by my side.  
–We still have the Hand. – The Doctor looked out at the mountains. – I believe it’ll not grow unstable if you’re not trying to use it as a destruction machine…  
–Then can you help me? – He smiled. – Rig it to my TARDIS, do it right this time, and I’ll find Eken and take it straight back to you!   
–To groovy me, seventies me. – He smiled.   
–Yes! – The Artist laughed. 

The Doctor left him alone there, for he wanted to contemplate his home world a little bit more before leaving it again. It was the room where the High Council had its meetings, and the big table shone majestic by the light coming out of the window behind it. He gently passed his fingers through the table, feeling the gallifreyan wood, and then he heard a knock on the door.  
Eoropa entered; her hair loose and her eyes calm. 

–You look so young. – She said, smiling.   
–You do too. – He smiled. – What regeneration’s this?   
–Fourth. – She smiled. – Yours the second, right? – She circled the table.  
–Yes. – He replied sadly. – I don’t know how, really.   
–Did he shot you? The Pilgrim…   
–He did, and he also threw me against a wall and killed my TARDIS.   
[ –I don’t know, Artist, I guess you’re just lucky. – She seemed angry.  
He realized that.  
–What happened? To you and Cewal, after I left.  
She was silent for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears.  
–Soon after we were rescued by a younger Doctor. – She continued. – We received orders, to hunt you down; you’d taken something that wasn’t yours with you.  
–Hunt me? – He said, startled.  
–That was how he referred to it. Cewal was mad at you, he was so angry…   
–He thought I’d lied to him.   
–You never told him that was your first body! – She said, louder. – You looked so old!   
–I was afraid! – He shouted back.   
They both stared at each other with tears in their eyes.  
–Anyway; he’s still out there. He’s looking for you, and if you remember how the older version of him looked at you back then, I believe you two are still to meet out in the stars.  
–He’ll want to arrest me. – The Artist looked down.  
–And he will. – She replied. – You’re lucky the Doctor’s here today but I’m not sure you’ll get to roam free like he does.   
He looked at her. Her hands trembled as she spoke. Her pale white face had freckles, which mixed along with the dark circles under her green eyes. Her lips were partly red, as if she’d been constantly biting them. Not even her hair was how the Artist remembered, it was brown, still, but opaque.   
–What happened to you?  
She sobbed. He circled round the table and hugged her.   
–I saw what’s out there. All the horrible things happening out where the Doctor can’t reach in the universe! – Her tears fell on his white shirt with little question marks in the collar, borrowed from the Doctor. – And now I’m stuck here, useless, disrespected, being treated as if I’d went insane! – She continued to cry.  
Still holding her, the Artist looked out through the window. Outside, he could see the orange sky shining upon the mountains, realizing that was where his car was.   
–Come with me. – He said, out of the blue.  
–What? – She replied.   
–Come with me Eoropa! – He smiled with his hands on her shoulders. –I’ll show you beautiful things, you can help me look for my friend Eken! Oh, you’re gonna love her! – He laughed.  
She seemed confused, but her crying ceased for a moment.   
–Are you serious? – She asked.  
–Of course I am! – He exclaimed, and as he said that he grabbed her by the waist and swirled in laughter. – I still have the TARDIS! It’s got a brand new console, it’s the car, and you’ve seen him!  
–Yes… I did. – She laughed.  
–So! – He got closer to her face, smiling. – Come on! You and me, old pals, looking for a girl stranded in another dimension, what do you say?  
She was silent for a moment, and then she looked at the mirror that was on the wall behind the Artist. There, she gazed at the shoulder pads on her uniform.  
–Oh what the hell. – She smiled. – Let’s go!   
–Yes! – He laughed loudly. – Yes! Yes! Yes!

It did not take the Doctor more than two or three hours to correctly rig the Hand of Omega to the Artist’s TARDIS. Now, the coffin was carefully hidden beneath the console, in a manner that it would not be more than a mechanic part of the time capsule. The Pilgrim’s TARDIS vanished soon after losing its source of power.   
The old man was more than happy when he heard that Eoropa was coming along with the Artist, and like a fan of him she mentioned the time that a young Doctor saved her in the Time War. He laughed, but promptly told her: “Forget about it, will you? Gosh, it’s embarrassing to think we even had that war.”   
He explained to the Artist everything he needed to know about crossing boundaries between dimensions, the younger Time Lord listening very carefully to every word with the eyes of a child that listens to their favorite teacher. 

The night of their departure came, and Eoropa carried nothing as she went to the mountain with the Artist. Her excuse was that she’d be responsible for accompanying him to his TARDIS, but her plan was to go along with him without the Time Lords realizing.   
When they got there, he opened the doors of the car and sat inside, promptly placing his hands on the wheel. As she sat down on the passenger’s seat, he looked at her and joked:  
–Well, what brings you here tonight?   
She smiled and shut the door closed.   
–D’you like music? – He asked.  
She shrugged, still smiling.  
–I’ll show you Earth’s music, they’ve got the best.   
His fingers slipped to the vintage radio of the car, rising up the volume.   
The sound of guitar could be heard.  
–Oh, that one’s really good.  
“When I wake up,” sang The Proclaimers on the radio.  
–Well I know I’m gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next you! – The Artist sang, smiling.   
Eoropa laughed, her eyes now joyfully shining.  
–But I would walk five-hundred miles! – He continued, pressing his foot on the gas, the car vanishing into thin air.

“And I would walk five-hundred more” the sound could still be heard in the silent mountains of Gallifrey “Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door…”


End file.
